


Reveni Mihi, Carissime (Return to Me, Beloved)

by Halmaithor



Series: Amatorum [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Magnus Bane, Canon-Typical Violence, Demonic Possession, Fluffy Ending, Foreshadowing, How is that not a tag, Kidnapping, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Prince of Hell Magnus Bane, Protective Alec Lightwood, Psychological Trauma, Rescue Missions, Snarky Magnus Bane, Supportive Isabelle Lightwood, Supportive Jace Wayland, Torture, Worried Alec Lightwood, v mild tho. Just a lil' mention of the bodyswap debacle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halmaithor/pseuds/Halmaithor
Summary: The well-known eyes are gone, subsumed entirely by black for a fraction of a second. But Raphael’s voice stays calm, friendly even. ‘Do as I say and the Mundane lives. Alert anyone, and he dies. Do you understand?’Magnus’ mind races, even as he nods silent compliance.Azazel's back, and he has some questions for Magnus.He's not planning to ask nicely.
Relationships: Alec Lightwood & Isabelle Lightwood & Jace Wayland, Magnus Bane & Raphael Santiago, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Amatorum [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733398
Comments: 12
Kudos: 122
Collections: Malec Hurt/Comfort Anthology





	Reveni Mihi, Carissime (Return to Me, Beloved)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So, this story factors in elements of 'Amator Meus, Cor Meum' (previous in this series). If you haven't read that one, all you need to know is that in 3x02, the portal mishap at Lorenzo's resulted in Alec being trapped in Limbo, and Magnus - being both a genius and a badass - came up with a ritual to get him out.  
> This is only a slight AU, though, and other than that event, this AU follows canon thus far. So, this is set in the timeskip, shortly after the wedding.  
> Please enjoy! <3

Raphael is late. Magnus huffs an indignant sigh, drumming his fingers on the table as he waits, syncopated with the ebb and flow of the music filling the bar. _You’d think he’d be a little more precious about timekeeping now that time is limited,_ he thinks, and immediately frowns at the painful twist in his gut. None of that, he chides himself. Tonight isn’t about Magnus; it isn’t an opening for him to start grieving, to dwell the newfound mortality of someone he’d hoped to never lose. That can wait. Tonight, he just wants to check in with Raphael, make sure that he’s adjusting well to Mundane life, now that the initial excitement at the change has most likely worn off.

Magnus smiles as Raphael appears from the middle of a crowd, eyes scanning the room until they lock onto Magnus. He comes over and takes the opposite seat, his mouth twitching up into a smirk – which Magnus returns easily, his boy’s apparent happiness always infectious in its unfortunate rarity.

It doesn’t last long.

Before Magnus can get a word out, the gentle smirk twists into an unfamiliar grin. ‘Magnus Bane.’ Raphael blinks – and Magnus’ heart stops for a second, because the well-known eyes are gone, subsumed entirely by black for a fraction of a second. But Raphael’s voice stays calm, friendly even. ‘Do as I say and the Mundane lives. Alert anyone, and he dies. Do you understand?’

Magnus’ mind races, even as he nods silent compliance. He’s not picking up on _anything_ from this demon; no magical signature, no demonic aura, not even a change in the surrounding energy. That’s bad news, because a demon strong enough to successfully hide from _him,_ especially _during_ a possession –  
‘Stand up, and don’t forget to smile,’ the demon orders, mirroring the action he’s commanded and throwing an arm over Magnus’ shoulders. ‘We’ll be heading out the back exit.’ It subtly waves a hand as it steers Magnus towards the back door, and there’s a sudden dull _snap_ in his jacket pocket as, presumably, his cell phone is destroyed. ‘Everything’s normal,’ the demon coaches, murmuring almost pleasantly in Magnus’ ear. ‘No-one’s going to have any reason to suspect otherwise, or Raphael pays the price. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?’  
Magnus keeps his gentle smile fixed, willing his voice not to shake. ‘No. No need for that. Everything’s fine.’

They’re almost at the back door, now, and Magnus’ heart thunders in his chest. He’s running out of time.  
He keeps his eyes focused to his right, on the demon, and resists the urge to look at his left hand as he slowly works his wedding ring free. The door opens, and Magnus swallows, unable to completely hide his fear as they step outside – and then the door is swinging shut behind them, and Magnus drops the ring, praying that the door’s clatter will mask the noise.

It’s the last thing he knows before the world goes dark.

  
***

  
‘…That doesn’t look good,’ Alec murmurs, wanting to move closer, but caution stopping him in the doorway of the apothecary. One of Magnus’ cauldrons – the large pewter one, this time, rather than his usual copper – sits proud in the middle of the desk, a heating spell glowing orange beneath it. As a whole, it’s not that rare a sight.  
The blue smoke that’s beginning to pour from the concoction, though? That’s less common; and it’s also why Alec finds himself in this predicament, taking a deep breath before he steps forward, scanning the desk for a note from his husband. Magnus sometimes leaves potions brewing while he’s out, Alec’s common sense and the room’s anti-cat wards enough to make it a safe endeavor. But he normally warns Alec of any potential changes, either in person or by way of a note. To Alec’s concern, he’s done neither this time.

He leaves the apothecary, getting his breath back under control and closing the door, just in case. He doesn’t want to disturb Magnus’ evening with Raphael – it’s possible that Magnus simply forgot to mention the potion, perhaps even _because_ it’s entirely harmless. But unfortunately, Alec doesn’t know nearly enough about potion-brewing yet to make this decision himself. He can’t leave it smoking if it’s not supposed to; but equally, he can’t take it off the heat and risk it… turning explosive, or something.  
Decision made, he walks as far as he can from the apothecary without leaving the apartment, and calls Magnus’ cell.

It goes straight to voicemail. 

Frowning, he tries Raphael instead, and gets the same result. They were meeting at the _Hunter’s Moon,_ right? It’s not usually a dead zone for signal.

He tries Magnus a second time, his worry starting to build as it goes straight to voicemail yet again. Magnus never turns off his phone anymore. Not even few weeks ago, when he lost his temper and stormed out of the loft – he was still angry when Alec called a while later, but he picked up nonetheless.  
Granted, he listened for all of five seconds before telling Alec to _fuck off_ and promptly ending the call. But he still _answered._ (And returned a couple of hours later, bearing a pint of Alec’s favorite ice cream and a heartfelt apology.)  
Even on his worst days, when all he wants is to be left alone, Magnus always answers his phone, because he knows the lives they lead. He knows that in cases of emergency, when there may not be time for a fire message, he needs to be contactable.

Alec turns towards their bedroom, scanning Magnus’ bedside table and vanity for something to track him with, and settling on an oft-worn silver pendant Catarina gave him for Christmas.  
The trace comes up empty, not even giving the faint pushback of a failed track over water.

He breathes slowly, trying not to let his worry build into panic. Okay. This is bad, and something’s clearly happened, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that Magnus is –  
He cuts himself off, sternly casting that idea into the _unimaginable_ category, and calls Jace.  
_‘Alec, is everything – ‘  
_‘I need you and Izzy to meet me at the haberdashery,’ Alec says. ‘Bring your weapons. I think something’s happened to Magnus.’

  
***

  
There’s a dull ache in Magnus’ skull, and he instinctively scrunches his eyes against it.

A few seconds later, when his disorientation has built up beyond what he can stand, he risks opening his eyes instead. He finds himself squinting, even in the low light of the single bulb above him. _What the fuck?_  
He rolls his head forwards, away from the light – and jolts in surprise at the face right before him, immediately wincing as the sudden movement ramps up his headache into a dizzying lance of pain. ‘Agh.’ Thankfully, the worst of it fades after a few moments, and he manages to force his eyes half-open again, glaring as best he can at the young woman who’s standing over his chair and… _studying_ him, almost. Her gray eyes are curious, and strangely pale, set in an odd contrast against her warm skin.

‘Shinyun,’ comes a familiar voice, and Azazel steps from the shadows. Magnus suppresses a thrill of fear. ‘That’s enough. You’ve taken your payment, now go.’  
The young woman stares at Magnus a moment longer, then turns on her heel without a word, flicking her sleek, dark hair over her shoulder. She stoops down to… lift up a wall? No, a door _–_ and then she’s gone, the corrugated metal slamming back down as her footsteps echo away.

Magnus’ gaze flicks back to Azazel, his dawning consciousness taking in his surroundings. _Storage unit,_ his brain supplies, the metal wall and small space starting to make sense. Not a very well-maintained storage unit either, if the smell of damp and the way he’s shivering are any clues. Bad enough being kidnapped, but did it really have to be to somewhere so _drafty?_

Azazel prowls a little closer, and Magnus’ mind sparks in a sudden memory because _that’s his own form, not –_ ‘Raphael,’ he blurts out. His voice is dry and hoarse, his magic swirling uselessly beneath the suppressing cuffs that bind his wrists to the arms of the chair. ‘Where is he?’  
‘Home and safe,’ Azazel says smoothly, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. ‘Albeit missing a few memories and a working cell phone. He’ll sleep until tomorrow, and forget he had any plans except an early night.’ The demon winks. ‘I needed your attention, but it wouldn’t do to leave a trail, now would it?’  
He leans close, and Magnus grits his teeth, putting on a bored expression as he resists the urge to flinch away. ‘All right, then. Consider my attention yours. Why exactly did you want it?’  
Azazel grins. ‘I want information,’ he says. ‘About Edom.’

He stands up, walking a tight circle around Magnus’ chair. ‘Now, word among the planes is that your father wound up in Limbo, and Lilith bit the dust not long after. And, of course, Edom is gone now. I felt it collapse away from Dudael.’  
Magnus keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead. ‘Well, it seems like you know an awful lot already,’ he deadpans. ‘Why am I here?’  
Azazel chuckles, the sound low, echoing less than it ought to against the high ceiling. ‘Well, the king and queen are dead,’ he says, leaning back around into Magnus’ eyeline. ‘So long live the prince.’ He stands up straight, taking a step back and looking pleasantly at Magnus. ‘I want to know where all that power went.’  
Magnus frowns, feigning confusion. ‘Power?’  
‘The power of Edom,’ Azazel clarifies. ‘The magic intrinsic to it as an infernal plane. I want to know where it is.’

Magnus stays silent.  
Azazel smiles, and lifts a hand.

The pain is all-consuming, locking Magnus into place as his muscles spasm, lungs helpless to do anything but scream -

It’s gone as suddenly as it came, and Magnus drags in a breath, slumping forward and blinking away the tears that blur his vision.  
‘Come along now, princeling,’ Azazel coaxes, a smile still in his voice. ‘Edom’s power. Tell me where it went. Did it leak into another plane? Or is there a jumped-up lesser demon running around with something far above its station?’  
‘N-neither,’ Magnus gasps. He averts his eyes, as if in surrender. ‘It was – _destroyed._ It was destroyed with Edom itself.’ He glances back up, not needing to fake the pleading in his expression.  
But Azazel merely raises an eyebrow. ‘You expect me to believe that?’

He lifts a lazy hand once more, and Magnus braces himself for the onslaught.

  
***

  
They’re standing outside the long-closed haberdashery – a convenient meeting point only because it’s halfway between the Institute and the loft, and time is of the essence – with the pendant between his and Jace’s hands, while Izzy activates her various awareness and vision runes to keep a lookout.

It’s just the three of them, for now. Part of Alec wants the whole Institute on this, as many Shadowhunters as he can muster; because even if it turns out later that he’s overreacting, right now all he knows is that his husband is _missing,_ and he’s half-scared out of his mind.  
But even if the slowly growing knot of fear in his gut is right, and Magnus desperately needs their help, sending out dozens of Shadowhunters with adamas blazing isn’t the smart move. Not until they know what they’re dealing with.

It seems to take longer than normal to find a trace – but then it’s there, it’s weak but it’s _there,_ and Alec’s heart skips a beat because he only now realises how afraid he was that they wouldn’t get any response at all.

They move wordlessly in the direction they’re drawn, the familiar but faint magnetism of a parabatai track. About four streets out, Alec’s unsurprised to recognise where they’re going.  
‘He could be just fine,’ Izzy says quietly, as the sounds of the bar drift out towards them, the low thrum of music overlaid with the gabble of muffled conversation. ‘Maybe there’s a satellite issue, and that’s why he didn’t have signal.’ Alec doesn’t answer, because much as he appreciates the attempt at encouragement, that doesn’t explain how hard Magnus is to track.  
Jace doesn’t say anything either, just stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Alec in the mismatched neon lights. Alec appreciates that even more.

Izzy squeezes his arm, heading inside alone. If there’s a situation inside, she attracts the least attention – when she _wants_ to be subtle, of course.  
Without the distraction of something to do, the fear threatens to rise again, and Alec swallows hard. ‘Tell me I’m overreacting,’ he says quietly. ‘Tell me it’s – I don’t know, PTSD or something, after Alicante.’ _Tell me I’m not going to lose him._

Jace stands half a step closer. ‘I can’t tell you that,’ he says gently. ‘But I can tell you that whatever’s going on here, we’re gonna find him. I promise.’  
It’s not a promise he can keep, but somehow, it helps.

Izzy comes out a moment later, looking concerned. ‘No sign of Magnus or Raphael,’ she begins, ‘but the bartender says they came out this way –‘  
‘Wait,’ Alec interrupts her, as something catches the corner of his eye, glinting on the ground just as the door opens.

He crouches down, and scoops it up in a move half-possessive, half-reverent.  
Because it’s a ring. Identical to the one on his own left hand.

He stands up, heart hammering once more as he shows Jace and Izzy what he’s found.  
‘Is that…?’ Izzy trails off.  
Alec nods – rushing to correct her when her face crumples. ‘No, no no no – he left it on purpose.’  
‘Why would he do that?’ Jace asks, baffled.

Alec looks down at the ring in his left palm, stroking over it with his thumb while his right hand digs around in his pocket for his stele. ‘It’s a message. He knew he was in trouble, and this can lead us to him.’  
Izzy looks doubtful. ‘Even though parabatai tracking didn’t work?’  
‘It’s a different sort of spell,’ Alec explains, slowly running his stele over both rings, paying special attention to the engravings on the inside of Magnus’. ‘It’s more like Seelie magic than anything – it doesn’t run off his own power or mine, it’s more like… _natural_ magic, or something. And that means that sometimes, even when normal tracking’s blocked-‘  
The ring suddenly tilts upright, rolling to the center of his palm of its own accord, the engravings morphing into an arrow and starting to softly glow.  
Alec smiles in overwhelming relief. ‘…This kind of magic can slip under the radar,’ he concludes.

He starts leading the way, hearing the quiet steps of his siblings behind him, knowing that Izzy’s watching their immediate surroundings while Jace focuses on the distant shadows, scanning for trouble. Alec keeps his gaze fixed on the ring, which gently turns in his palm like a compass needle, guiding their reorientation as they round the street corners on their path.

 _We’re coming, Magnus,_ he promises silently. _Hold on._

  
***

  
‘I’ll ask again,’ Azazel says, and Magnus’ vision is still fuzzy with pain but he feels his lips twitch in satisfaction at the note of annoyance in the demon’s voice. He has no intention of making this easy on his captor. ‘Where-‘ Magnus yelps at the sudden blast of pain – ‘is Edom’s – ‘ again, shorter and sharper – ‘power?’

The pain eases, and Magnus curls in on himself as best he can, slowing down his frantic breaths and desperately holding in a whimper. There’s no point in answering, anyway. It’s not like Azazel will believe him.  
Behind him, now, there’s a sigh. ‘I’m getting tired of this, warlock.’ But the resignation rings false, and Magnus almost snorts. True, the torture may be wearing Magnus down; but if Azazel thinks that this _posturing_ is going to work, after Magnus spent _years_ learning mind games from Asmodeus? Well, he’s in for an unpleasant surprise. ‘Clearly, you’re too foolish to put an easy end to your own pain,’ he continues, oblivious to his captive’s contempt. ‘Do I really have to go and fetch your Mundane friend again? They’re so much more _breakable_ than Downworlders, after all. I worry he wouldn’t even survive the trip.’  
Magnus keeps himself still. Reacting’s only going to bring Raphael back into this, and he can’t risk that.  
‘Or perhaps someone else,’ Azazel muses, stepping in front of Magnus once more. ‘Someone who’s not lived quite so _full_ a life as a vampire-leader-turned-holy-man.’ He snaps his fingers, as if in revelation. ‘I know – how about that _Nephilim?_ I imagine he’s not even seen three decades yet. Am I right, princeling?’  
_Steel yourself,_ his father’s voice seems to warn, and Magnus keeps his expression impassive. _If you must have a weakness, at least have the wherewithal to hide it._  
‘Oh, come on, now,’ Azazel says, tilting his head and grinning. ‘So cold? After all, rumor has it that you managed to pull him out of _limbo;_ that’s quite a challenge to take on for someone you don’t care about. Not to mention, _he_ certainly seems to care about _you_ – at least, judging by all the lip action I saw last time.’ The demon chuckles. ‘Plus, there’s our unfinished business, what with him banishing me back then…’ Azazel freezes, his expression dropping into a sneer. ‘Oh. But you wouldn’t remember any of that – because you weren’t quite _yourself_ that day, were you?’

Granted, it’s the closest the demon comes to provoking a reaction, given Magnus’ mounting exhaustion, and the memories already threatening to surface for his being strapped down and tortured.  
But despite all of that, Magnus finds himself holding back an eyeroll – or perhaps even a few pointers, tips and tricks on how to properly scare a captive. Because compared to Asmodeus or Lilith, Azazel simply lacks a certain… _finesse_ in that department.  
For example – while the reminder of his time in Valentine’s body is wildly unpleasant, the fact that Alec apparently _kissed Valentine_ during that time is disturbing enough that it almost tips over into laughable. How is a man supposed to feel suitably cowed whilst also trying to process _that_ mental image?  
Also, the mention of Alec being the one to banish Azazel last time actually _settles_ Magnus’ instinctive fear at hearing his husband threatened. Why should Magnus spill his secrets, when Alexander’s already proved himself perfectly capable of dealing with this particular threat?

Azazel’s nostrils flare, his veneer of calm slipping. ‘Do I amuse you, princeling?’ Hm. It’s possible Magnus has lost a little of _his_ poker face, too. Well, that’s only to be expected, during an ordeal like this –

A moment later, Magnus’ thoughts are lost to the agony once more.

  
***

  
They’re halfway through the aisles of dilapidated storage units when there’s a sudden hand on his arm. ‘Alec,’ Izzy warns, gesturing just ahead of him – to where he can now see a faint shimmer, the curving boundary of some kind of ward.  
‘Looks like that one’s the centre of it,’ Jace says, pointing to a storage unit slightly over to their left.  
Alec pockets Magnus’ ring and squints upwards, but can’t quite make out the upper edges of the spell dome beyond the not-inconsiderable height of the unit. ‘Izzy, does it cover the roof?’ he asks.  
Izzy looks up as well, her eyes flashing with the effect of her various vision-enhancing runes. ‘No,’ she says. ‘But it’s not like there’s going to be a way in up there, right?’  
‘Maybe not,’ Alec allows, already refreshing his soundless rune as he eyes a ladder at the end of the row, a plan forming. ‘If there is, I’ll come back and tell you. If not, wait here until the ward drops, and then attack from this front. Got it?’  
The two of them nod their understanding, stepping back a little further into the shadows cast by the units behind them.

Alec climbs the ladder silently, and creeps over to the unit at the ward’s center. The roof is riddled with cracks all along the row of units, and thankfully, this one’s no exception. He moves down to his hands and knees, slowly moving around the largest crack, towards the back of the unit.  
When he’s almost opposite the door, he catches a glimpse of a familiar figure, and his heart stutters in his chest.  
_Magnus._

Even with the wards blocking sound, Alec recognises the tight posture and clenched fists as signs of excruciating pain, and he grits his teeth, breathing through the swell of fury and pushing emotion aside in a well-practiced sweep. There’ll be time for that later, once his husband is home and safe.

The crack in the roof is wide enough for an arrow; but no matter where Alec positions himself around the opening, he can’t get a good enough angle on the figure occasionally striding into Magnus’ space. He needs a different approach.  
Magnus suddenly slumps forwards, his shoulders heaving as the pain apparently ends. His hands unclench, fingers flexing, but not even a spark being called forth – _because of the cuffs,_ Alec realises. They’re padded leather, by the looks of them, and he can just make out a few semi-familiar sigils carved into their surface. He assumed Magnus’ magic was being suppressed in some way, and those cuffs seem like a safe bet as to how. 

He pulls out one of his pure adamas arrows, rather than the ones that are merely tipped with it, praying it’ll be enough to cut through the wards.  
He also pre-emptively apologises to Magnus in his head, because this is going to hurt like a bitch. But if Alec’s right, it might be the best chance for all of them to get out of there alive.

He takes a deep breath, aims, and fires. 

  
***

  
Magnus’ eyes dart to the sudden pain in his right wrist, but he barely has a chance to register the arrow before a far stronger instinct takes over.  
Because _his magic is back._  
The arrow flies across the room, banished from his already-healing wrist, and he stands up, the chair and restraints disintegrating in a haze of gold – and then he snatches his left hand forward, snarling red magic wrapping around Azazel, contracting until the demon gasps in pain and the faint hum of his protections fizzles out.

‘Hm. That’s much better,’ Magnus says, conversationally.

Azazel’s forced down to his knees, looking up at him with shock and no small measure of fear. ‘How?’ he all but whispers.  
‘It’s a little ironic, actually,’ Magnus remarks, keeping his tone mild even as he steps closer. ‘Because you were right. Edom’s power wasn’t destroyed.’ He flexes his hand, relishing the gasping cry Azazel gives. _‘I_ have it.’  
_‘You?’_ Azazel’s face is pure rage and incredulity. Over to the right, there’s a clatter as the door lifts, Jace and Isabelle bursting in with their weapons raised. Magnus’ heart lifts to see them, but otherwise he pays them no mind, keeping his attention on the demon at his feet. ‘You couldn’t handle that sort of power,’ Azazel insists, half-managing a sneer. ‘You’re _nothing –_ Asmodeus’ bastard, a Mundane _half-breed-‘  
_‘Who was also the most powerful demonic being in Edom at the point of its collapse, and is hence more powerful than you’ll ever be,’ Magnus finishes, wrapping a cord of magic around the demon’s throat to stop him talking. ‘Do you know why neither Asmodeus nor Lilith ever waged their war upon _you?_ Upon Dudael?’ He gives a pleasant smile, leaning forward. ‘Because you were never a threat to them,’ he whispers, giving a conspiratorial wink. ‘You’re hardly a demonic mastermind, Azazel. Everything from the fight that won you your throne, to your escape from the Institute; from _unum ad unum,_ to your actions tonight… You’ve been getting by on nothing more than cheap, lucky shots. No _finesse,_ no _follow-through._ So, you can imagine that to someone like my father, you were only ever a bug that he decided not to squash.’  
He steps back again, waving his right hand and conjuring a portal. ‘Unfortunately for you, Asmodeus and I had more than our fair share of disagreements.’

Alexander appears in the doorway, too, and Magnus flashes him a half-smile. ‘Oh, and by the way,’ he says, turning back to Azazel, ‘if you happen to see my father in limbo, give him my worst, would you? And tell him how glad we were that he couldn’t make it to the wedding.’  
With that, he pulls the magic tight around the demon’s neck – hitting the pressure point, rendering him unconscious – before sending him backwards through the portal, and immediately letting it fall closed.  
It’s over in a matter of seconds.

When it’s done, the storage unit falls silent, and Magnus takes a step towards the Shadowhunters – only to collapse, his knees buckling under the weight of exhaustion.  
‘Magnus!’ Except he doesn’t fall, of course; because Alexander’s suddenly there, holding him upright. Magnus closes his eyes, wrapping his arms weakly around his husband and breathing deeply, letting his adrenaline fade. ‘I got you. I got you, it’s alright,’ Alec murmurs. ‘You okay?’  
Magnus nods, his face hidden in the crook of Alec’s neck. ‘I will be,’ he mumbles, the words ghosting over Alec’s skin.

Alec lets out a long breath, his relief almost palpable – it’s in the ever-so-slight tremble of his strong frame, the way his fingers entwine tightly with the fabric of Magnus’ shirt.  
The way his voice is slightly thick when he says, ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’

By the time Magnus has the presence of mind to think of a reply, they’re already halfway across the lot.

  
***

  
When Alec opens the front door, he immediately flinches away from the smoke that starts curling towards them, angling himself in front of Magnus. ‘What the fuck-?’  
_Oh._ Shit. The potion. With everything that’s happened since, he’d managed to forget about that.

Apparently, he’s not the only one. ‘Shit,’ Magnus says, stepping forward into the apartment, waving a hand towards the apothecary before Alec can stop him. ‘I forgot about that.’

He gestures towards the windows, too – but Alec manages to stop him, this time, gently clasping his wrist. ‘I’ll get them,’ he says. If the smoke was too toxic to risk walking through, he knows Magnus would have sent him away by now. ‘You should save your energy.’  
Alec crosses the room, hearing Magnus sigh behind him as he relents, shedding his jacket and wandering through to the apothecary instead. ‘Honestly, Alexander, I’m _fine,’_ he insists, though it’s the fond exasperation in his tone that does more to reassure Alec than the claim itself.  
‘I’d still feel better if you’d let someone look you over,’ Alec calls, opening the windows. The blue-tinged smoke rushes past him quicker than regular smoke would, carrying a slightly cloying smell as it escapes, almost like rose mixed with too-sweet marzipan.  
‘There’s really no need,’ Magnus calls back. ‘The moment you freed my magic, it healed any injuries I might have sustained. The rest is just fatigue and magical strain, both of which I can handle just fine on my own.’  
‘Well,’ Alec points out, walking over and leaning in the apothecary doorway. ‘Not _quite_ on your own.’  
Magnus looks up at him, a soft smile crossing his face, which Alec returns. ‘Not quite,’ he echoes.

Alec’s phone buzzes, and he pulls it out of his pocket, scanning the message. ‘It’s Izzy,’ he says. ‘Raphael’s okay – he doesn’t even remember going out tonight, let alone being possessed.’  
Magnus’ expression floods with relief, even as he stirs the potion with a grimace. ‘Thank god. I’m not sure this concoction has fared so well, though – I’d planned to be home a couple of hours ago, and I think it’s brewed well past the point of effectiveness. Possibly even into the realm of mild toxicity.’ He puts a lid on the cauldron, stepping away from his desk. ‘I’ll contact Varliel in the morning and explain the delay. It wouldn’t do to provide them with an anti-morning-sickness potion that made them _more_ nauseated, after all.’  
Alec smiles. ‘I guess not,’ he says.

He catches hold of Magnus’ sleeve as he comes close, guiding him into the loose circle of his arms and running his fingers gently over his back. The deep red silk of Magnus’ shirt is a little scuffed in places, but still perfectly smooth and intact. ‘It’s late,’ Alec says, somewhat unnecessarily. ‘Why don’t you go get ready for bed, and I’ll make us a hot drink?’  
Magnus hums appreciatively, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Alec’s lips. ‘You have the best ideas, Alexander.’

  
Ten minutes later, Alec enters their bedroom, frowning slightly when he sees Magnus already bundled up in the comforter. ‘You cold?’  
‘A little,’ Magnus admits. ‘I meant it, when I told you that I’m all right; while it’s true that I’m not used to dipping into the Edomic reserves of my magic, beyond my more traditionally-acquired powers, I honestly didn’t use that much of it banishing Azazel.’ He shrugs, a slight frown creasing his own forehead now. ‘I have plenty of magic left; far more than I need for a basic self-assessment. But nonetheless, I confess that I still feel a little… _off._ In a way that I can’t quite put my finger on.’  
‘Well, I guess that’s to be expected,’ Alec says, a little reluctantly. ‘You’ve been through a lot in the last few hours. If you start feeling worse overnight, you’ll wake me up, right?’ He places one of the drinks on Magnus’ bedside table, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on his husband’s cheek when he nods. ‘Okay, good. But for now, this should warm you up, at least. Black tea with milk and honey.’  
‘No rum?’ Magnus asks, in what Alec is mostly sure is a joke.  
‘Not tonight. Maybe a whiskey in your morning coffee instead,’ he says with a half-smile.

He puts his own mug on his bedside table, and changes into his most colorful sleepwear: a dark blue t-shirt made of soft cotton, and his green sweatpants with white bows-and-arrows printed on them; the ones that Magnus got him for his last birthday.  
It has the desired effect, Magnus smiling as he looks him over. ‘Wearing color?’ he teases. ‘You must have been worried, if you’re that willing to indulge me.’  
‘Firstly, I indulge you all the time,’ Alec says, climbing into bed. ‘And secondly… yeah. Of course I was worried.’ He tries to keep his tone light, but can’t quite help the way it turns quieter and a little more serious.  
Magnus’ expression softens, and he reaches out a hand, Alec grasping it firmly in his own.

They sit like that for a while in companionable silence, one hand holding on to their drinks, the other holding on to each other.  
‘Have they had any luck tracking down the woman who was there with Azazel? Shinyun?’ Magnus asks, when they’re about halfway through their drinks.  
‘Not yet,’ Alec says, giving Magnus’ hand a squeeze. ‘But Jace took your description of her back to the Institute, and he’s casting a pretty wide net. I got a text from Luke, too – he says that in the morning, he’ll see about calling in a few favors at his old precinct, in case she’s in the Mundane system anywhere.’

He drains the last of his mug, laughing when he tries to get up and is scuppered by Magnus’ grip on his hand tightening. ‘I have to brush my teeth, and so do you,’ he points out.  
‘No I don’t,’ Magnus huffs. ‘And neither do you – you’ve already brushed them, and you’ve only had tea since.’  
‘I had coffee.’  
His eyes widen. ‘At _this_ time of night? Why not just activate a stamina rune, while you’re at it?’  
Alec rolls his eyes fondly. ‘There’s this wonderful invention you might have heard of; it’s called _decaf._ Your tea was decaf too, by the way. I know what I’m doing.’  
He pulls his hand away, heading over to the ensuite’s cabinet and then standing in the doorway to brush his teeth.  
All the while, Magnus continues his anti-coffee tirade. ‘Caffeinated or not, coffee at this time of night is just… _unnatural,’_ he insists; but then he sighs, as if in defeat. ‘Still, I suppose I should have expected this time-independent devotion to arabica. I knew I was marrying an American, after all – and a New Yorker, at that.’  
‘I wa’ bor’ in Alica’e,’ Alec points out, as clearly as he can through a mouthful of toothpaste foam.  
‘And yet, the city that never sleeps has waged war upon your European sensibilities for twenty-five years, and has emerged victorious.’ Magnus says it like a lament, but even as Alec turns away, leaning over the sink and rinsing his mouth out, he can almost see the mirth sparkling in those golden eyes.

He climbs back into bed, scooching close to the center. ‘You’ve lived here way longer than that,’ he protests. ‘And aren’t you technically a U.S. citizen?’  
Magnus puts aside his now-empty mug, shuffling down and laying his head on his pillow. ‘You aren’t?’ he asks, clearly surprised.  
‘I don’t think so,’ Alec says. ‘Though honestly, I can’t quite remember the requirements.’  
Magnus laughs quietly. ‘Well, who’d have thought. The Head of the New York Institute, not even an American citizen. Scandalous.’

Alec smiles – though it’s a little half-hearted, because now that he’s facing Magnus more directly, he can see that some sort of worry is still etched lightly on his husband’s brow. ‘You sure you’re okay?’ he asks softly.  
Magnus opens his mouth – and then closes it again, glancing away, apparently stifling an automatic response. ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I think so. I just have a certain sense of… foreboding, I suppose.’ His mouth quirks, and he moves a little closer, meeting Alec’s gaze again. ‘I feel as though the events of tonight aren’t quite over, somehow. Like there’s something I’m forgetting to account for.’  
Alec hums, wrapping an arm around Magnus to pull him against his chest. ‘Well,’ he says evenly, ‘whatever it is – whether it’s just… emotional fallout, or something, or whether it’s something wider-reaching – we’ll deal with it.’ He reaches up with the hand between them, pushing a strand of hair away from Magnus’ eyes. ‘But right now, we’re home, and safe, and you need to rest. Everything else can wait until the morning.’ He searches his husband’s gaze for any sign of reluctance. ‘Okay?’  
He finds none. ‘Okay,’ Magnus murmurs, kissing Alec one more time before his eyes fall half-shut and he curls against Alec’s chest. ‘You’re right. I love you.’  
Alec smiles, reaching back to turn off his bedside lamp before rolling back to hold his husband close once more. ‘I love you too,’ he says softly.

Maybe Magnus is right, and there’s more to this incident than meets the eye. But for now, the wards hum soundlessly around them, and Alec has his husband back, warm and alive and drifting off in his arms.  
He breathes deeply, and falls asleep minutes later, utterly content.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! For some reason, this one was a bitch to edit, so if you enjoyed it please do let me know! ^^ <3
> 
> [Find me on tumblr: silver-latin-and-salt :)](https://silver-latin-and-salt.tumblr.com/)


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